


Its Getting Harder to be Close To You

by Cefhclwords



Series: Look at Me Like [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, M/M, Pining, dele in denial, sad boys, smut kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cefhclwords/pseuds/Cefhclwords
Summary: Dele has a dream about Eric and it becomes too much.“What did I do? Del I don’t even know what I did”Eric’s words are half pressed into his pillow, but clear in the silent room, his words sounding young and weak, and Dele’s stomach lurches in such a way that he worries he might actually be physically sick with it, his blood rushing in his ears, unsure for a moment that Eric had actually spoken, that it wasn’t just in his mind.Dele doesn’t dare move, body heavy with fear under the thick covers. He feels like a kid again, if he can just stay under his doona, pretend he’s asleep, keep his eyes shut, the monsters can’t get him. Not here.Based on the Prompt: "Why aren't you looking at me?"





	Its Getting Harder to be Close To You

**Author's Note:**

> Read more and request at my tumblr by the same name: cefhclwords :) <3 hope you enjoy this! x 
> 
> Any feedback would mean the entire whole world to me!!! I am highkey scared of posting angst so pls lemme know what you think good or bad!! <3
> 
> Title from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuKAjnYcG3w

As Dele’s lies in a bed that isn’t his own, mind full of thoughts he doesn’t want, he wishes he’d been born without the ability to dream. He wishes each night bought him only black silence till he woke.

 

The first time Dele ever dreams about Eric Dier, its when the man’s hair is still long and blond, still young enough to have a few red pimples dotted on the smooth skin of his face. 

He’s known Eric for only a handful of time, long enough to know what he looked like when he was drunk, when he was tired. What his favourite movie was, that he hated his tea anything but scolding hot, and had trouble sleeping alone in his house, needed his dogs or friends to fill the home he lived in.

The dream hadn’t been too wild, if anything Dele was a bit disappointed with his subconscious for providing him with something so normal. Maybe if it had been something funny and weird- like that dream he had of him, Kane, Sonny and Moura being a famous boy band together, he could have shared it with Eric, laughed about it over a cup of mate before training the next morning.

Instead, it had been frighteningly mundane, familiar. The dream had taken place in White Hart Lane, just the two of them sat in the middle of the pitch, the sun beating down on them. It had been hot in the dream, he remembered that he had felt overheated, sweat dripping around his neck. Eric was sat in front him, feet and legs bare apart from his football shorts, tanned skin on show. They were even in their match kits for god’s sake, it’s like Dele’s brain had just chosen the most common image and hit play for him.

They hadn’t been speaking, Dele doesn’t remember them talking anyway, music might have been playing he’s unsure whenever he tries to recall it, it had been so many years ago, just another dream of the millions he’d had before, he didn’t know why it had stuck so firmly. Dele had been flipping a soccer ball between his hands, the distinct sound of the leather hitting his palms, as Eric sat across from him.

The only strange bit, really, maybe the one detail that had tied it to Dele’s brain, was that Eric had been eating oranges, tearing apart the fruits, fingers cradling it as his thumbs pulled down to split the rinds, juice spilling out over his fingertips, sticky and sweet. Fresh oranges piled by his knee, as the peels of the eaten ones collected between his legs. Dele thinks of it still, sometimes, on the odd occasion that he sees an orange tree, a few of the fruit fallen, fat and ripe where they lay among the grass.

That first dream hadn’t been the last, not nearly, Eric had been in his dreams many times since then, popping up in the background, a flash of his face here and there, a few more dreams like the first of just them alone, lying on their backs looking up at night skies in Eric’s backyard; walking down Dele’s street in the rain. It seemed that Dele only dreamt of Eric in the most ordinary of ways, his subconscious seemed to only understand Eric in the real world, abstract of fantasy. That was until recently, anyway.

The Dream had come after a rather normal day in Dele’s opinion, a morning of training, lunch with his brother and then a date with Ruby. She hadn’t stayed over after their dinner and movie, she’d had a shoot early the next day, was due to be picked up at five the next morning and needed to do her usual elaborate skincare preparation. 

Dele had been texting Eric on and off through the afternoon, nothing thrilling, mainly talking about pointless things, such basic conversation that thinking back Dele can’t recall a single word of it

He’d fallen asleep in the large couch in his lounge room, an episode of love island playing on a low volume, a blanket half laid across his body.

By all means, it was a formula for a normal nights sleep, a goodnight and good luck text to Ruby sent, training the next morning, lunch with Eric pencilled in for later in the week; thinking as he drifted off that he needed to make sure he double checked the time of his meeting with Otro on the weekend.

It wasn’t like the dream really could show up on a night that made sense in all truth, he doesn’t think there were any events that could link up to make him acknowledge the dream with a feeling of sense. 

It could have happened the night after Dele got the drunkest he’s been, or he didn’t know after the world going into an apocalyptic breakdown and it still would be the most unexplainable thing.

It wasn’t like Dele was unaware of the fact Eric was attractive, or the fact that he was aware of it. Dele had always known, as fact, that Eric was handsome. 

It was right there along with the rest of the list of what he thought when he thought of his best friend. 

Eric Dier: best friend, kind, fat head, caring, bad at dressing himself and handsome.

And it wasn’t like Dele was unaware of how much he cared about Eric, how important he was to him, how much he wanted to spend time with him, how he felt a sense of warmth when he had the man’s attention on him. 

He loved Eric, he’d been his best friend for over two years, of course, he loved him, he was the one he told everything, trusted endlessly.

(Sure, maybe, if Dele was open and honest with himself for more than a minute, let any of the passing, fleeting thoughts linger, he would admit to himself how he shivered a little sometimes when Eric touched his neck, how he’d thought on just a few occasions in the dark of his room, the warm lights of a club, in the mayhem of a pitch mid celebrations- what Eric’s lips might taste like.)

But Dele knew, he knew it was just adrenaline, his stupid young male hormones or whatever, moments of intensely pent up energy and the proximity of Eric. 

Eric was just always around, right? Always in his space, half-naked- god he probably saw all the boys on the team naked more often than Ruby. But Eric was always so touchy too, so it wasn’t anything more than that.

Besides, he had Ruby, Ruby who he cared about, Ruby who he loved, who he wanted. He had Ruby and that meant he didn’t need to think about any of that anyway, he had- he had all he needed, could want.

So Dele was at a loss of how he couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how he had woken up with sweat drenching his neck and chest, cock hard enough in his trackies that it felt like his body was throbbing with it, heart hammering so loud he couldn’t hear anything over it.

How that same morning at training, even the sight of Eric out the corner of his eye had sent his knees weak, confused about what he should do with his hands.

He couldn’t see Eric without flashes of skin on skin blaring past his eyes, the feeling of Eric’s hand wrapped around his throat, mouth biting and pulling at the skin under his ear. Of how it had felt, the width and strength of Eric pining him to a bed, the words he’s whispered into Dele’s ear that made him fall apart. The way his whole body has felt as if it was on fire.

That’s when it had started really, the small step back. 

After the world cup, Dele had never felt closer to Eric, all those hours together, sharing rooms, meals, days off, sleeping against each other on plane rides and long drives. They’d been in each other’s pockets for the past few months. Even in the small break between seasons, they’d not gone a more than a few hours talking, more than a week apart. 

Maybe all of that had been part of it too, part of both The Dream and the pain of pulling away from him.

In the beginning, Dele hadn’t even been sure Eric would notice, he planned to just dial back the intensity, reset his values to focus on Ruby, on having the best relationship he could. 

He wasn’t a kid anymore and messing around with his mates, spending nights at Eric’s playing videogames, watching tv series together- it was about time he realised he wasn’t a young bachelor anymore, he had Ruby and that’s where his time should be invested, football and Ruby and family.

It had been small things, saying no to dinners, making plans with Ruby which limited his time to just go hang around at Eric’s, play basketball in his yard. Eric had seemed to be fine with that, understanding Dele was busy with his girl or family, joking that they only seemed to see each other at work now like they were colleagues in a boring office.

It had helped, a little bit, the memories of his dream didn’t linger as heavily, didn’t flash over his mind as he kissed Ruby, slid his hands under her shirt, took her to bed, they didn’t.

Not when he kept himself clear of Eric when he wasn’t constantly reminded of Eric’s frame, hearing his stupid laugh, the way he sang along to the Portuguese songs he liked to play when he drove.

But it wasn’t enough, it hadn’t been enough when they were training and Eric would let one of the other boys climb onto his back, sling an arm around Winks as Poch spoke to them. 

It wasn’t enough when the weather was warm enough for Eric to strip out of his shirt at the end of the training and it made Dele’s heart catch in his chest, make him remember the way dream Eric had looked at him as dream Dele sucked kisses down his chest. How he’d sunk a hand into the back of his hair as whispered “you’re so good for me”. How it still made something in Dele wind tighter, like he was trying to stop himself from falling into pieces, unravelling altogether.

So Dele had pulled back a bit further, easy like breathing, he told himself, messing about with Son or Erikson, keeping a distance so that they’d be paired off into separate small groups for warm-ups. 

Dele sat with someone different every day for breakfast, stood longer in line to chat to the chefs, spoke to anyone and everyone but Eric Dier.

Easy like breathing, to stop looking at him, for him, even when for the past two years that felt like it was all he’d done. Loss, celebration, laughter, he had always looked to Eric to share it. He’d stopped watching, stopped looking, stopped taking notice because his stupid subconscious wanted to make it more than it was.

Easy like breathing he told himself, even when he caught himself looking for Eric when he scored a goal, having to pull his eyes away. Even when his fingers itched to text Eric when something extra ridiculous happened in love island, Even when he was having a bad day and craved a hug from Eric, or just a smile, a squeeze on the back of his neck. 

Even as he craved any sort of interaction from Eric past the shake of hands, occasional nod, rare text Dele had neatly narrowed it all down to - Dele denied himself. 

It was the right thing to do, after all, Ruby was so happy at how much time they had together, he was working out more in his free time, getting more done with his brand. Dele was doing better now that he was focusing.

Dele had denied himself, even in his weakest moment, When Ruby was on a trip with her girls and Dele was all alone in bed, faced with another stupid fucking fresh off the press article published about his birth mother and biological sister, and how he had broken their hearts. it had been over two thousand words in length and he’d read every single letter of it

Eric had texted him an hour after it came out, because of course he had, even when Dele knew Eric had cottoned on to the space he’d created between them. Dele had seen out of the corner of his eye the way his shoulders slumped when Dele ensured they were never in the same space near each other for more than a few moments. 

Ruby had sent “Fuck them! They don’t know the truth baby, it’s just for money yeah? Look what you’ve got now that’s in the past!! Here if you need me x” and it had felt all wrong. Despite the good intentions behind the words, it had made Dele’s stomach twist, and odd strike of anger running through him.

But of course, Eric’s words had been perfect; simple, “Hey Del, accidentally ordered way too much Nandos, want to help me with it? Could start that new Netflix show Kane was talking about”

Dele’s eyed had burned, chest aching as he forced himself to reply “Sorry mate! Just climbed into bed to sleep, knackered after training today”. He’d felt a discomfort settle in his chest that never really faded after that, sending a last minute follow up text of “Maybe another time” as he shamefully felt tears burn in his eyes, aching for the company Eric had offered him. 

Eric would have known what to say, how to make Dele feel better without making him talk about all of it, he wouldn’t make Dele fill in awkward pauses or ensure he didn’t make Eric feel uncomfortable with the fact things had been fucked up in his past. 

In the end, Dele had maybe given in just a bit that time, accepting the call that came in from Eric a few moments later, surprising both of them when he answered.

It had been the first and last proper direct conversation he’s had with Eric over the past month and a bit. 

He guessed he deserved it then, after chatting to Eric for a few hours, just like everything was normal, that he couldn’t get him out of his mind. 

He deserved the sick feeling of worry when he finally admitted to himself as he laid on his back, staring at his ceiling that the reason wasn’t able to look Eric in the eye wasn’t because they’d fucked in a dream. 

It hadn’t been the way dream Eric had pinned him to the bed, one hand holding his wrists, hadn’t been the way he Dele had felt more pleasure in a dream when Eric pressed into him than he ever had in real life. 

It hadn’t even been the way dream Eric had fucked dream Dele like his life depended on it, Dele on his stomach as he was taken apart by Eric, on fire and wanting to cry with how good it was.

No, it had been the words, the soft whispers that made Dele scared to look at Eric, kept him convicted in staying away.

It had been the way dream Eric had kissed him soft and sweet to begin with and whispered that he’d ‘wanted to do that forever’, when he’d muttered ‘my beautiful boy’, ‘does that feel good?’, ‘are you comfortable?’. ‘I’ve always wanted you like this’, ‘I can’t get enough of you, babe, Dele, I need you’.

Most of all, when Dele surrendered for a second and let himself remember it, it was the way dream Eric had held wrapped a hand around his neck, tugging up gently so he could his mouth to his ear, and whispered: “I love you Dele, I’m so fucking in love with you”. Dele’s pleasure had peaked and in his dream muttered out a “love you, love you too, love you always” before he woke with a heaving gasp, aroused, confused and terrified.

After that night of the phone call, Dele was resolute in leaving the dream behind. He talked to Eric, it made him think about it, remember all of it and now he knew he needed to keep it locked away for good, keep his distance from Eric and distance from whatever it meant.

And it worked, it worked right up until the second away match of the season, Where the hotel they were booked to stay had been two to a room, because of course that was Dele’s luck, and because clearly, the world was out to get him, they had roomed Dele and Eric together.

It felt like a nightmare as Dele accepted his room key, watched Eric walk down the lobby hallway, his head down and headphones in, knowing that they’d be in a room together overnight, no way out made his head spin.

The whole team was exhausted and it was late when they got in and with strict instructions to get some rest, Dele knew none of the boys would entertain switching rooms.

The whole night felt like the beginning of a horror film when things hadn’t gone wrong yet, no one had died or disaster had not struck, it was like when everything still had that warped sense of normality. When it was presented as just a normal small town, but a sense of dread and unease leaked through every moment. All was calm in the top, but underneath brewed a silent sinisterness.

Eric had been nothing but polite, normal, offering Dele first shower with a smile- had tossed him a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, left the bed furthest from the door for Dele since he knew it was his preference. It had been calm, quiet, Eric respecting the fact Dele didn’t seem to want to engage with him at all, and it made Dele want to scream.

Eric had finally, finally leaned over to switch out the lights, and Dele had stolen a half a second look at the bulge of his bicep before he laid down on his back.

 

 

And there he was, on his back eyes shut, wishing he’s never been able to dream, as he ignores the way his stomach feels like it’s eating itself. “Night Dele” Eric whispers, Dele saying a short “night” back as he envisioned the bed swallowing him up, stealing him away from the tension soaked room.

The room is silent for a long, long stretch then, minutes that melt quickly toward an hour, Dele is pacing his breathing, counting in groups of ten.

Three more breaths and then a rustle of sheets as Eric moves in his bed, sounding by the groan of the mattress as though he is turning on to his side.

“What did I do? Del I don’t even know what I did”

Eric’s words are half pressed into his pillow, but clear in the silent room, his words sounding young and weak, and Dele’s stomach lurches in such a way that he worries he might actually be physically sick with it, his blood rushing in his ears, unsure for a moment that Eric had actually spoken, that it wasn’t just in his mind.

Dele doesn’t dare move, body heavy with fear under the thick covers. He feels like a kid again, if he can just stay under his doona, pretend he’s asleep, keep his eyes shut, the monsters can’t get him. Not here.

He wonders if that still works when the monster isn’t so much an unknown entity hiding out under your bed or lurking in the corner of your room, but heavy feeling, a cloud of uneasiness that fogs your chest, a hot shame of knowing you are pulling something good apart because you’re scared of what it means.

“Why aren’t you looking at me”

Eric’s words come minutes after the previous. The first may have been an attempt at conversation with Dele, thinking maybe if he asked under the cover of night, in this room that belonged to no one and everyone he might just tell him, he might explain the past month of his behaviour.

But Dele knows, these words, these aren’t for anyone else, maybe especially not Dele. A heat rushes over Dele’s face and he wishes desperately he had fallen asleep as Eric has assumed he has, wishes those words hadn’t fallen anywhere but into the empty room, left unheard to sink and fall into the carpet and not into his mind,

 

Because Eric’s right, really, he is, he hasn’t been looking at him, not really, not like he used to, not even close. He was a coward.

‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’ Dele replays the words painfully, pinpointing in his mind the way Eric’s voice sounded and thinks, because I have to. Dele squeezes his eyes tight enough that small bursts of purple and blue explode in the darkness of his eyelids.

He focuses all he can on not moving, arms by his side, lying on his back in this cold hotel room, his best friend one bed over and a feeling of guilt so thick it fills every millimetre of space between them.

Dele barely breaths and stays still enough to ensure a pretence of sleep, hopes desperately that it’s enough Eric to believe it.

‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’ Dele runs the words back once last time and thinks- Because I’ve gotten worse at looking away. Dele’s brain has finally supplied him his real answer, the truth that itches ugly and raw and the kind of honest that hurts to hide from himself because it’s so undeniably true.

It would be like telling his heart that it didn’t beat, pointless words that did nothing to change the reality of the situation.

Dele feels the first tear slip from under his eye as he hears Eric breath out, heavy and shaking, thick and fear revolts in Dele’s chest, because he knows Eric and that’s what he sounds like when he’s about to cry, the shake of his breaths followed by a sharp sniffle.

Dele’s head pounds and something in him snaps and breaks away right there in that hotel room, under crisp sheets that smell nothing like home.

He listens to Eric turn in his bed again, the soft whimper he lets out quiet enough to indicate that he’d turned to face away from Dele.

Dele feels a few more tears leak from the corner of his eyes and into the pillow, a heat burning in his chest that makes it feel impossible to breath, his head pounds and his neck soaks in shivering sensations, the whole fucking world collapses behind his eyelids as Eric sniffles again almost silently.

Dele is frozen in place and hates himself.

Dele lies there in the dark, his insides trembling and falling apart and lets himself feel every second of it.

Dele doesn’t dare move.

Dele stays perfectly still, and wishes he was brave enough.


End file.
